


Noirette

by joxnerd



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adopted Loki (Marvel), Avengers AU, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes pining after Loki, Bucky and Steve are those friends, Bucky does, Bucky is in college, But you will still love him, Everyone Is Alive, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I have this whole fanfic planned out and I can't wait to write it, Loki (Marvel) is really guarded, Loki and Bucky deserved better, Loki is mysterious, Loki isn't the real villain I swear, M/M, More characters will appear as time goes on, Not Canon Compliant, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, POV Bucky Barnes, Sorry Not Sorry, Steve and Thor are side characters, There needs to be more winterfrost fanfics, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Thor wants to start a bakery, Thor's family is from Australia, WinterFrost - Freeform, You might have to infer a lot of stuff, he has Issues, really - Freeform, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2020-11-08 18:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20839784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joxnerd/pseuds/joxnerd
Summary: It was a quick motion.The man licked his lips, and expeditiously flipped the page of his book over.-A Winterfrost story I most likely came up with at 2 am.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on this for a while, and it is definitely my favorite work to write. I read it and it doesn't even seem like I wrote it, and I inhale it like I would any other book. It just makes me so happy and I feel like I've really grown as an author when I read it.
> 
> Even though it's a fanfiction.
> 
> Quick precaution - it is male x male. If you don't like it, don't read it. Don't post any hurtful comments. Or I will find you.
> 
> Kidding! But don't be a bully.
> 
> I actually really ship these two, they're my favorite mcu characters, and I really want them to meet. They'd be awesome together and I wish there was more fanfiction of these two.
> 
> But, I do what I always do. If I'm looking around for an interesting plot and I don't find it, I write it myself.
> 
> So I hope you enjoy the first chapter. It's similar in the way that I don't really mention names, more characteristics and a lot of inferring. But it's not hard for me to understand, so it shouldn't be hard for you.
> 
> If you like it, please leave kudos, comments, subscribe, and bookmark. If you find any grammatical errors, please inform me in the comments. If you have any ideas for it, I can add them and credit you. Please leave those in the comments too.
> 
> And with that, I present:
> 
> Noirette

(Please read notes)

*

It was a quick motion.

The man licked his lips, and expeditiously flipped the pages of his book over.

I couldn't help but notice it amidst all the screaming and crying. There were so many kids all around; I could hardly focus on the work right in front of me. Never mind the fact that I had gotten distracted by him again.

I was currently surrounded by the luscious greens, slowly turning red and brown and yellow and orange of the trees, spreading up into the sky. Searching for the source of their power.

Like everyone was doing. Searching, reaching stretching for the thing keeping them going and giving them hope.

**

I was jotting a note down when I first heard the footsteps. Precise. Confident. But nearly soundless, as if the man didn't want to draw attention, but wanted people to feel his presence.

I didn't even have to look up to know that he had a messenger bag hanging from his shoulder containing a book. Possibly the same as yesterday, or maybe a new wonder to dive into.

***

I had my own apartment, downtown near the little shops. I'd go down there occasionally to browse the shelves, but I never bought anything. I never wanted to; I found no reason to. But I wanted to get something for him.

****

I barely knew him. I knew this. Why did it have to be so hard for me to strike up a conversation with him?

Was it because he always seemed so absorbed in that novel or whatever he was reading? Was it the vibe he gave off, interrupt him at your own risk? Was it me?

Was it me?

*****

During most days, I go to a local college. I spend the rest of my time at the park. 

It held so much unfound beauty, so much peace. It felt welcoming. The park was a second home of sorts. The difference between the park and my apartment: he was at the park. I couldn't have him at my home. I can't have him whenever I want him, whenever I just need to be with someone. But I have hopes that I will. That I can. Someday.

******

On the outside, you wouldn't be able to guess I'm this kind of person. You'd probably think that I'm just a dumb jock. You could think that I don't care about anyone bt myself and am just trying to get by.

But what most people don't know is that I think. I think a lot. About tons of little things. And I love as much as I can.

I can be that guy on the football team, butting my head into others for the point of what exactly? I can be that guy; cold and calculating, cutting you off and walking away for a reason you'll never know.

I can be that guy who everyone feels bad for; the guy who lost both parents in a car accident that miraculously survived, but lost an arm and had to go through the system a few times. I can be that guy who people pity, yeah, I can. I see the looks people give me as I pass by.

They don't know I do.

But I can also be what Steve calls me, a "little puppy dog." The real me is someone who puts their whole heart into anything they're doing. Who is loyal until the end of the line, who knows what's wrong and what's right.

Everyone has this idea in their head of who I'm supposed to be. They trap me in a box, they confine me, as to being only one thing. When I'm more. That's what everyone in this town is like. Now him. Him I don't know yet.

*******

I put the headphones on my head, and begin studying the notes I took in my Psychology class.

He's already there, sitting on the bench across from me, his legs crossed at the ankles and staring intently at the book in his lap. I watch as he bites his lip and his eyebrows rise upwards in shock.

I watch as he licks his lips and uncrosses and crosses his legs again. I watch as he licks his finger and turns the page, over and over again.

I watch as the noirette's hair blows in the wind, the same way the pages of his book do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot how much I love this story!
> 
> Enjoy an update, if you like it, show it. Comment, leave kudos, subscribe so you get notified when this fanfic is updated.
> 
> I very much appreciate it!

*

I've never seen him before. This isn't the largest town, so we all know each other, more or less.

I haven't heard people talking about him, which is unusual, considering that anyone new to this area had gossip and rumors attached to them like flies. But he was different than the others.

He was a mystery.

He was a story I could unravel. One that I wanted to. I couldn't wait to begin.

**

After a particularly bad day, I mumbled curse words as I trudged to my bench. He looked up at me, a curious expression gracing his features.

He wasn't mad that I had interrupted his reading.

I grumbled as I plopped down on the hard wooden bench. I could still feel his eyes on me as I reached into my bag to pull out my Public Speaking homework.

After a few minutes, his eyes finally returned to his book.

***

Today, I was sat on my bench, doing what I always did. Watching him but pretending to do my work. Anytime he glanced up, I lowered my eyes and picked up my pencil and scribbled something down. To seem like I was working. He didn't look up often though. No where near as often as I had hoped.

****

We, or should I say I, quickly got into a routine.

After my classes, I would walk to the park, listening to music the whole way. When I finally got to my bench, I sat down and fished in my bag for the work I had began in class.

Some days he would get there before me, some days he would not. He always sat there, a book in his lap, staring intently at the words on the page. Eating them up. It was like he was scared they would fall off the page and he would never get a chance to absorb them, to implant them in his brain, and run his mind through them as long as he pleased.

*****

Anyway, we got into this pattern. I don't know when it was exactly, but one day when I got to the park, he wasn't there.

After an hour, he still wasn't.

And then finally, I heard the sound of his boots, and peeked over at him through the corner of my eyes.

He was wearing a long-sleeved green sweater, black ripped skinny-jeans, and his regular pair of short black boots.

Nothing too noticeable. He blended in well. But something caught my eye. He wasn't wearing the messenger bag.

And he looked tired. Exhausted. Maybe he always had, and I had just now noticed, but I feared he would collapse any second. He still exerted that confidence though.

In his hands was a sketchbook. He opened it, and began to draw, I guess. I loved the way his fingers seemed to dance with the pencil, extravagantly and so sure of every single mark they were making together. 

******

It was odd. Him bringing the sketchbook after days and days of bringing that book. I knew he hadn't finished it. But he had brought that sketchbook and sketched what exactly?

There wasn't much to sketch here. Everything around us was dead or dying. Cold. Despair. Maybe he liked that kind of stuff.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's in trouble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an Instagram account now; @d0nnieboy
> 
> (Don't judge, I'm getting back into TMNT)
> 
> I forgot how much I love this fic, I've got to get back into writing it.

*

It was about a week later when I began developing a cold. I tried toughing it out, but it was no use. No medicine helped. My fever was going through the roof. I had no choice. I couldn't go to classes. I couldn't go to the park.

There was only a solution to one of those things. And it sucked. I could do my work online. But I couldn't see him.

**

It was about another week until I saw him again. I wonder if he noticed my absence. If he missed me.

I walked my way down the cobblestone path and soon saw the familiar sight of my bench. Glowing in all it's glory.

A smile crept its way onto my face.

The park was crowded for some reason today. People stretched on and on and on. A knot twisted in my stomach. I had never particularly enjoyed crowds.

The park was never this crowded. Which brought up the question, why was today different?

I soon found out.

Placed close by my bench was a miniature stage. It was wooden and a few feet off the ground. That was what the people were crowded around.

And on the stage was a boy, Peter actually.

Peter Parker.

He had his laptop with him and was fiddling around with something on it.

Looking to a sign right beside the stage, this was some talent show or something.

Even if I hadn't been sick, I still wouldn't have tried out.

I turned back around to my bench, which was in perfect line of sight to the stage. Now I could watch performers. Perfect.

I sat down and broke from my routine some more. I didn't pull anything out. I just sat and watched the performers.

After Peter was another guy I sort of knew, T'Challa. He seemed like a cool guy. I wasn't paying that much attention, so I couldn't have told you what he did.

My friend Steve ended up performing. He began doing some fighting moves. Impressive, and certainly different. I didn't know if he would make it through, though.

And then, when I finally thought it was over, a final act walked out onto the stage.

My heart skipped a beat.

It was him. Him, with his shoulder-length greased raven-black hair. Him, with his smirks and his all-seeing green eyes. Him, with his sharp cheekbones and jawline. Him, with his beauty. He was wearing a black trench coat over what looked like a plain long-sleeved green shirt. He also had on blue jeans and his "famous" short black boots.

He had some hair ties around his wrist. His fingernails were painted black. His skin was the palest I had ever seen.

And he had a guitar. He had a guitar. Strapped around his shoulder. He had a guitar. An acoustic guitar.

He sat on a stool in the middle of the stage. Placing his feet on the bottom rung, he attempted to get comfortable, and then placed his fingers on the neck of the guitar. The audience stopped talking. There was no sound. Silence for miles. I could have heard a pen drop.

And then quietly, he began to sing. Slowly growing louder and more confident. It was amazing.

It was sweet, and soothing, and hypnotizing, and musical, and melodic, and mellow, and rich, and lilting, and modulated, and angelic, and appealing, and dulcet, and pure, and controlled, and warm, and relaxed, and pleasant, and ambient, and canorous, and clear, and euphonious, and flawless, and fluid, and...

Beautiful

***

Too soon, the song ended. There was silence, and then I began to clap. People followed my lead. Slowly though. I could tell they didn't think it was as amazing as I did, but that was probably just because it was him. And I was me. _It was him..._

****

I couldn't get the song out of my head. It was late at night. I was trying to get to sleep. But the song - his song - was stuck in my head. Playing on a loop. And I liked it. Because there was no way I would ever grow tired of hearing it.

_"You're running through the garden now, sweetheart_

_You're running to my heart now, darling_

_You're running to a place where you can be safe_

_You're running to my arms"_

I wish it was on Spotify so I could listen to his silky smooth voice again.

*****

It was hopeless.  
I was too far gone.  
It was a crush.  
Or was it more.

******

I wish he would write me a song. And then sing it to the world. But it would be just me. Because I'm his world.

I want to be his world.


End file.
